Fair Folk
by Winterfell-6
Summary: An Elf and a Ranger are stuck with each other for the day. Cue a discussion of mythology, and a conflict that only a dash of cold water can cure, literally speaking. Written for St. Patrick's, 2015.


**I wrote this with a vague St. Patrick's Day theme in mind-it's slightly AU for mentions of real world folklore that shows up nowhere in the LotR books.**

**I, of course, own none of the characters-they're all the property of the Tolkien Estate. This is a fanwork; no profit is being made.**

It was one of those days somewhere at the tail end of winter, at the point when the snow was no longer pretty, only a nuisance, and back home, the larder was getting bare. In the wilderness of the Angle, it added difficulty to an already trying Ranging.

Though Halbarad and his companion found the path they were looking for, it wasn't very good: at one point, they had to scramble twenty feet up a nearly vertical wall of cold stone and mud. Worse still, bits of last week's snow clung to the hillside, in the cracks between the rocks and in the shadowed places. It had thawed and refrozen to the point that it was nearly ice, and it lent the ascent the potential to become very exciting, very quickly.

Elladan overtook him easily and waited at the top of the escarpment. When Halbarad was nearly up, Elladan extended a hand to help him. The Ranger took it without thinking.

Then Halbarad crouched just below the crest of the ridge, uncomfortably warm and sweating through his thick clothes. Well, _that _had certainly got his blood flowing. It felt rather good to have the exercise. And now his fingers were now working properly, where before they'd been clumsy from the cold; though they also stung, and one of his nails was now torn half off and bleeding.

He pushed down his hood and his scarf. He'd miss them soon, but for now he should cool off.

After a minute, he moved to stand, but Elladan put up a hand. "Here, we rest."

"I'm fine." Halbarad might not be an Elf, but he _was _a mortal who kept himself in good physical condition, and he could survive a bit of climbing.

Elladan briefly pursed his lips a line. "But you're not the only member of this Ranging," he said. "I think we should rest, for a few moments. It would be better for us, there's no reason not to, and that aside," he motioned westward, back over the lands they'd crossed, towards the leagues of low ridges and valleys, trees and tall grass, fading away into the blue distance, "this is rather a beautiful place, is it not?"

Halbarad probably shouldn't have rolled his eyes at that.

A few paces away, Elladan sat down. There was nothing above them but a short stretch of hillside, capped with bare trees, and a sky like slate, and no sounds but a lone crow somewhere in the valley. Elladan took off his pack and offered canteen to Halbarad, who had plenty water of his own but took Elladan's anyway. It was so cold that it made Halbarad's teeth ache. He passed it back.

"I'm sorry," said Halbarad, feeling like he owed something of that nature. He pointed back down the way they came. "For that. I know this country. I forgot this trail came this way. I just… I'm an idiot, is what."

With a wave of his hand, Elladan dismissed Halbarad's apology. "I'm as much at fault as you. My brother and I know the Angle and all its paths as well as any of the Dúnedain. Only, I remembered the climb—though I didn't think it a problem, and I was wrong." Smiling down at the ground, he toyed with a pebble. "So really, Halbarad, it's I who should be sorry."

"Apology accepted." In Halbarad's mind, they were still on Ranger land, since they were only a few days' march north of Amon Naur. He'd forgotten to look at the map from the other direction—they were also less than a week's travel south of Rivendell. And the Twins would have been patrolling this territory for thousands of years as well, since before the Rangers even existed. Gods, he truly could be thick sometimes.

"Still," he said, to take his mind off his chronic stupidity, "if we have to go back tonight or tomorrow to rescue Aragorn and…and Elrohir, it's going to be a nightmare going back down, especially in the dark."

The Elf's slim shoulders rose and fell. "There are other paths."

"_Longer _paths."

Another shrug. "Better paths. And we may not need them. You did say last night, that there was a possibility that the cache my brother and I found might possibly belong to one of your people?"

"Perhaps. I've no idea." That morning, before Aragorn had left with the other Twin, he'd gone to Halbarad explaining the change in plans. _If all goes well, we shall catch up to you by tonight_, Aragorn had said, _and if you've no sign of us by then… _and there he'd smiled wryly, _I'd be grateful indeed if you'd come to look for us._ Halbarad had played his cousin's rescuer multiple times before (just as Aragorn had done for him), and it wasn't much fun. Usually someone ended bleeding of multiple stab wounds, or, worse yet, publically humiliated. On top of that, if Halbarad would have to rescue Aragorn tomorrow, he'd have to develop some form of working relationship with the Elf, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"You don't trust me and Elrohir, do you?" said Elladan after a moment of quiet, interrupting Halbarad's musings.

"What?" Halbarad glanced up. The Elf was giving him a long, steady look. His face wore a closely watchful expression that gave Halbarad no clues whatsoever as to what he was thinking. "Hm. Why—why wouldn't I? You're my chieftain's…brothers." Which would make them what, exactly, to Halbarad? Foster-cousins, umpteen times removed? "What makes you think I don't trust you?"

"Because in the two days since my twin and I met up with you and Estel—that's Aragorn to you," some hair came loose from Elladan's long, dark braid, and he tucked it back, "and in that time you've hardly had anything to do with us, much less speak to us. Now that I think about it, this is the first conversation we've had together, barring a few meaningless exchanges of pleasantries." The corner of his mouth twitched. "And here Estel has spent hours telling us all about his fearless cousin, who has a snarky quip for every occasion."

Halbarad immediately tried to think up something appropriately witty and sarcastic to say to that, but what came out was something along the lines of, "Um. Yes. Well." He looked away and stretched, pulling his right elbow towards his head until the joint of his shoulder clicked.

"I don't hold it against you," said Elladan. "A certain amount of mistrust is, to say the least, a common reaction to the Eldar among mortals." Returning to his pebble, Elladan picked it up and juggled it in one hand. "Elrohir and I have long grown resigned to it. We've heard everything anyone's had to tell about us." And now he glanced up again, smiling brightly. "In Minhiriath they call us the Fair Folk, and say that we spend the nights riding through the countryside at the heels of a pack of fey hounds. The sound of our passing is an omen of death. And in Dunland, apparently, we kidnap young women and children to take back to our hollow hills, unless repelled by cold iron or sprigs of rowan."

Halbarad thought for a bit. "Well, the part about the cold iron can't be right, and I'm not sure about the rest. But to be fair, Thranduil lives underground," he said. "And so did the kings of Doriath and Nargothrond in the First Age."

"True. But name one child we've stolen."

Raising his eyebrows, Halbarad gave a wolfish smile. "Aragorn. And, while we're on the subject, you took Gilraen too."

For a minute, Elladan just looked at him. Then he put up a finger and met Halbarad's grin with one of his own. "Borrowed, the both of them were. Not stolen. We gave them back."

Halbarad had to laugh at this.

They sat together in silence for a little longer, and then Elladan stood up. "I think that's long enough," he said. "I suppose we had better move on. It would be embarrassing if my brothers arrived there before us in spite of their journey. But it was good to talk to you, Halbarad, finally." Though he looked down at the ground when he said this, almost as if he were embarrassed, something in his smile made Halbarad think he was sincere. "Though I know of nothing I can say that will make you trust Elrohir and me, I will offer this: we are on Estel's side. He's our brother, to whatever bitter end that might lead us. My people and yours have had many conflicts in the past, and I make no claim to speak for those. But any kinsman of Estel is like a kinsman to us."

When he offered his hand to help Halbarad up, this time, the Ranger didn't take it.

/\/\/\

After he'd thought for a while, Halbarad decided that what the Elf had said out loud was not the issue he was actually getting at. Probably Elladan didn't have Halbarad pegged as a superstitious idiot who tried to ward away the Fair Folk with cold iron and clumps of greenery. Instead, the conversation may have been an attempt to bridge the gap that existed between the Dúnedain and Rivendell.

From what Halbarad knew, which wasn't much, the Twins had been on the Ranging that Aragorn's father—Halbarad's uncle—had died on. There were some Dúnedain who hadn't forgiven the Twins for the incident, whether that was rational or not, and Gilraen's decision to raise Aragorn in Rivendell had not been a popular one. What was clear to Halbarad was that the Rangers didn't communicate with their nearest allies and that there was hostility on both sides whenever Rangers met Rivendell patrols.

Elladan must have reckoned on Halbarad's inheriting his family's grudge, so he'd taken time today to remind Halbarad that they were on the same side. Well, Elladan had completely missed the mark. Halbarad didn't give half a damn about whatever political intrigue had gone on before he was born; anyway, now that Aragorn was back, it didn't seem to matter. His coolness towards the Twins was due to something completely different.

It wasn't that he didn't like the Twins. They seemed like good men. Elves usually were. Elladan and Elrohir made him angry sometimes, but it was anger at the fact that they were there, existing, not at anything that they'd actually done. Halbarad's conscience nudged him. He thought he might know exactly why he was so upset, and it wasn't for any particularly noble reasons. It had something to do with how, whenever Halbarad left camp for any reason, he'd return to find the three of them, the Twins and Aragorn, sharing jokes and stories in rapid Sindarin and creating their own circle of warmth, with Halbarad on the outside. It felt a little like waking up one morning to find uninvited guests in your house.

/\/\/\

After leaving their resting place, the two still had leagues of hilly, forested wilderness to cross before reaching their campsite. For a while Halbarad could almost forget about Elladan and be alone with his thoughts as he walked, his long strides eating up the miles. Until things, as they inevitably do, started to go wrong.

To cut a long story short, Halbarad had been looking for a particular trail but left the main path too early. The mistake wasn't discovered until they were two miles down an unfamiliar valley, and Halbarad stopped to check the maps.

They lost time backtracking, while Halbarad tried not to lose his temper. By the time they found the right path, it was late afternoon, the clouds were growing thicker, and air becoming colder. Halbarad had pulled his scarf up to cover half his face, and his long hair protected his ears, but his cheekbones and fingers stung, and his feet (though to be fair, they'd never been right since they'd frozen nine years ago) could barely be felt. He glanced back at Elladan, who wore no scarf, and looked unfazed by the weather.

By evening, they'd reached a place where the trail ran into the floor of a valley and along the banks of a stream. The stream was about twenty feet wide and too deep here to be forded, so the plan was to follow the path northwards to a shallower place. However that meant they'd have to circle back the way they came, _again_, and more travel time would be added to a Ranging that Halbarad only wanted to end. If they could cross the stream here, that meant they could just walk half a mile to the south and set up camp by dark…

Elladan must have thought the same thing, because he went right up to the bank and looked down. Stooping, he picked up a stone, and tossed it towards the water. It skittered on a layer of ice.

Halbarad came over. He wrapped his cloak tightly about himself to keep out the cold, shoving his hands into his armpits. Elladan shook back his hair and glanced at his companion. "If it's thick enough, we could cross."

"_If _it's thick enough," Halbarad agreed, pushing down his scarf so that it was easier to talk. "We have no way of knowing." He puffed a breath; it looked like smoke. He could use a smoke right now, as well as a cup of something alcoholic.

Elladan was still watching him. In this light, his gray eyes looked almost colorless, and there was something behind them that made Halbarad shiver. "I could test it—I'm a little lighter than you, and if I fall in—" he shrugged "—I get wet. Unpleasant, but no harm done. If the ice holds me, you can follow."

Even as Halbarad considered this, he knew it wasn't a good plan, for the simple reason that walking on ice at this time of year is something to be avoided when possible. Yes, it had been a long, hard winter, and it was still unseasonably cold, but that didn't mean the ice was still thick enough to support his weight. And he half remembered Aragorn say something about the laws of nature behaving differently for Elves than for mortals, allowing them to do things such as walk on snow…or thin ice… where mortals couldn't follow… Then he glanced up, where behind the mountains the sky was turning pink.

"Try it," he said. "If it holds, we'll see. If not, try not to be offended when I don't jump in after you."

Elladan flashed a smile. "Hold my pack." Then he passed into Halbarad's hands what could have been a back of rocks.

The Elf scrambled down the bank—no, _scrambled_ wasn't the right word. He was too graceful for that. He moved as if he were perfectly in control of his body, capable of having it do exactly what he told it to, whenever he wanted to do it.

At the edge of the water he paused, then slid one foot out onto the ice. When it held, he tried the other, took a step, waited, and took another.

About six feet out from the shore, he turned back to Halbarad. Now his smile was wide and beautiful. "Throw me my gear?" Halbarad went down the shoreline and tossed the pack to him.

Then Elladan went out and stood in the middle of the ice, as confident as if he were walking on stone. Not a crack showed.

"It seems solid enough," Elladan said. "A bit thin in places, but you can avoid it if you retrace my steps."

Halbarad's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? And you are completely sure about this."

"Yes."

"Come, then, how do I know that you're not just trying to lure me off to your, what were they? Your hollow hills."

"You shall have to trust me, if you can."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Halbarad said, "Walk into Amon Naur and you won't be allowed so much as to clean the stables; as for me, I'll take you to task for other things."

He was half joking as he said it. But as soon as it came out of his mouth, he could have hit himself—there was too much history, too much uncomfortable truth in that simple statement. Halbarad wished for a nice hole to crawl into.

"You know what?" he said, to break the awkward silence, "At a second glance, that ice looks thick enough from here. I think I'll take your word for it."

/\/\/\

Later, when he was telling the story to his daughters, Halbarad would give them three guesses as to what happened next. And the first two didn't count.

/\/\/\

Ranger training isn't a pleasant ordeal, by necessity. One trial universally detested by recruits involves plunging, fully-clad, into an icy pond. This is not, as is commonly believed, a ploy to torture callow Dúnedain youth but rather a cunning plan by the Ranger captains to teach recruits that freezing water is, indeed, cold.

So cold that when you're first immersed, you can't move. You think you should. You tell your legs to move, your arms to move, but they don't, they _can't_, and you sink. Then once you regain control of your arms and legs and are able to kick to the surface (or, as in Halbarad's case, stand up), the cold hits you like a punch to the stomach. You gasp for breath, and gasp again, and all you can think is, _gods, I have to get out_.

Fortunately for Halbarad, Elladan kept his head. Somehow the Elf was able to get him over to the shore and out of the water, hauling him up by his armpits part of the way. On the shore he set about building a fire while Halbarad took off his clothing. The recruits don't take it well when you tell them about _that_, either, but any awkwardness is alleviated by the fact that wet clothing leaches heat from the body, and you may very well die if you don't.

So it was that Halbarad came to be crouching by a cheerful fire, wrapped up in Elladan's cloak and blankets, but still, for a time, shivering. Elladan swore in Sindarin, loudly and often, and Halbarad, once he got his breath back, had a few choice things to say as well, until the hills echoed with the sounds of foul language. Any listening orcs would have been duly impressed. But between bursts of profanity, Elladan could say nothing but how sorry he was, so sorry, and it was he who was at fault…Which was true, but only in part—Halbarad had been just as much of an idiot. He blamed himself more.

Elladan found Halbarad something to eat, boiled water for tea, and heat up rocks in the fire for Halbarad to keep under the blankets. Spreading out the Ranger's wet things to dry sparked some anxiety about the parchments Halbarad carried, maps and reports and whatnot, but they had been wrapped up tightly in oiled leather and were mostly undamaged.

When Elladan was sure that Halbarad was not, as it were, dying, he began to slip out of camp for short stretches of time. At first it was just to gather firewood. Later in the night, he was gone for some time, and came back followed by Aragorn and Elrohir. The first thing Halbarad's cousin did was kneel down next to him by the fire and look him over. There was something hard in his eyes, though it faded somewhat after a time.

"So I've seen you've survived the day without me," said Aragorn, "seemingly in spite of all efforts to the contrary, yours included."

"It wasn't all that bad," said Halbarad. Beneath the blankets, he clutched on the rocks from the fire to his bare chest—they were the best part, the rocks, better even than the food and the tea. "I got to relive my teenage years, back during training. As you know, there was so much that I enjoyed the first time."

Aragorn gave a short laugh. Then he ran his hand through his hair, and suddenly looked exhausted. "And how do you feel now?" he asked. "Have you a headache, uncontrollable shivering, pains in your chest—"

"_No, Mother_. As I said, it wasn't so bad. I mean, I wouldn't exactly try to make a sport out of this swimming in frozen rivers, but all things considered, I think I'm all right. Thanks to your brother."

"Elladan. Him I'd like a word with as well." Sighing, he rose, walked off, and called to Elladan in Sindarin. Elladan, who'd gone for water, put down the kettle and answered in the same language. They went off a short distance, and while they didn't exactly argue—Halbarad never heard any raised voices—there were hints of tension in Aragorn's gesticulation, in the way Elladan stood with his arms crossed, his spine perfectly straight. No one paid any more attention to Halbarad until the other Son of Elrond came over, passing Halbarad a bundle of clothing.

"These are Estel's," he said. In appearance he was exactly like Elladan, but there were slight differences in his smile, his posture, the way he cocked his head to one side. "They won't fit you, but they'll do better than anything of mine or Elladan's, at least until yours dry." His smile went a little bit lopsided as he gestured towards the others. "And I'm unbelievably sorry that you have to put up with the both of them."

"What happened today wasn't Elladan's fault," said Halbarad, "just so the record's straight."

"He knows," said Elrohir. His eyebrows twitched. "While none of the rest of us came close to dying today, Estel and I met with frustrations of our own… and I expect some past grievances are being brought up besides. Now, if you'll forgive me, I should probably break things up, or come tomorrow, no one will be speaking to anyone. Rather petty, but…" he shrugged, "Love someone like a brother, and you'll fight together like brothers as well."

He left Halbarad alone with his thoughts.

_Brothers._ That was the heart of the matter—or at least the heart of Halbarad's problems with the Twins. Though Halbarad himself had a brother (and a sister too), he and Fael weren't exactly close. They hadn't gotten on as children, and that certainly hadn't changed as adults. Instead of a brother, Halbarad had a cousin.

So it was conceivable that, deep down, Halbarad might be jealous of the Twins. Perhaps.

He had to admit that Elladan, at least, had his uses. He was quick-thinking, observant, and knew some very creative swear words, all elements of a good Ranger. It might be interesting to patrol with him, and never mind the politics between their people, or, for that matter, the old superstitions.

Halbarad looked forward to it.

**Reviews would be much appreciated-they fill me with happiness.**


End file.
